To Crest a Wave
To Crest a Wave is a poem by FourFlames. It was entered in the Wiki-Wide Writing Contest. Part I: Emerald Diamonds Seafoam, emerald diamonds, glittering fiercely. A tail writhing, lan eel pinned to the depths. Tides lash at the shore, a war unwritten by time, a last breath of the ocean poured in fury, crashing and roaring like a dying dragon. The sand sinks below the talons of a single one. Glimmering coastline glares in his eyes, taunting him forward but in them he shows no fear of the battle-ready walls of water. Wings spread; he beats the air like a smooth legato rhythm and the sky swiftly plucks out the harpstrings as he dives down, low as a cormorant. Flaring his wings into a power thrust, the chorus of the ocean winds he spirals to the beat as an agile fragment of the rebellious waters below. Is this a nightmare? For it is so strong and I am but a mere dragon But he regrets these thoughts; The weak are the doubters. Then in scales of storm sky and wings of faith the world turns on its head and in a split moment drip, drip, drip, three single droplets welcome his forehead the surface a gate to his face, and he threshes through the salty water. His webbed claws do not fight in anger his wings do not try to hold their own; he embraces the difficulty of the seafoam, emerald diamonds, glittering fiercely. Part II: White Knives The onyx spit splashes, dancing, not in victory for you see, it has lost a battle; a battle with the sky and earth. Why, still then, does it dance? It is dancing because of the white knives. They ascend from a smoke up in the sky not a hot smoke, but a silver, bright smoke. And the white knives. They, too, cut through it. Then they strike over all; the earth the sky even the spit itself but they do not resist. ''Why? '' You ask these questions, but surely you, too, would rejoice and you would know. They are what make the emerald diamonds glitter fiercely what make the waters lash like an eel's tail what make Dragons see what make the grass exist what make the winds blow and what rakes the world with their slices and white knives. Part III: A Shape Underwave A scale, like a fish, drifts below no fire, just gentle lapping as it rows over and underwave. Beams of white-knife and waves of calm emerald diamonds have abandoned their war. He passes because he is a tide. They bow to him respectfully and dance elsewhere. A steady rhythm legato with a harp flies to play elsewhere. His moment has been lived; he is the wings of faith the scales of storm sky And the shape underwave returns to his post at a palace of summer with fronds of green talons of spit knives of white, emerald diamonds, all glittering fiercely. Category:Genre (Poetry)